was hoping for information about Mr. Kemp.”
“Sorry. I cover local politics.”
“Can you tell me if an arrest has been made?”
“Bill covers crime. Let me give you his voice mail.”
“One more thing. The story says Mr. Kemp was divorced. Would you know his ex-wife’s name, and how I can reach her?”
“Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you. Here’s his voice mail.”
“How about I give you my number, and you see she gets it? This regards an old friend of Ted’s. It has nothing to do with the murder.”
“Leave it with Bill.”
Cole heard a click, and Wu’s prerecorded voice.
Cole left his name and number, and lowered the phone. He shrugged at the clerk.
“Voice mail. They stick you with voice mail, they never call back.”
The clerk’s vague expression didn’t change.
“Hope they catch his killers. Mr. Kemp was nice.”
“You knew him?”
“He was a regular. Bought gas, a six-pack, whatever. Stopped in all the time.”
Cole realized this should have been obvious. Kemp lived only seven blocks away.
“You said killers, as in more than one?”
Wu’s story hadn’t mentioned the killer or killers.
The clerk shifted on his stool.
“Two for sure, and might be three. Shoe prints around the grave, and they got some DNA. One’s an Anglo male, for sure. They don’t know about the others.”
The lifeless clerk was a gold mine.
“They being the police?”
“I’m here by the highway. Deps stop in all the time.”
Cole smiled. A mother lode.
“Regulars.”
“Uh-huh.”
“They have any suspects?”
“Not yet, but they’ll break it. The feds came in. We got feds everywhere.”
“Makes sense, him being a retired marshal.”
“That, and the way he was killed. Gruesome.”
“The story said gunshot.”
“That’s how he died, but they messed him up first. Shot him in the hands. Shot his right knee. Beat him and cut him something awful.”
The clerk’s voice faded, and his expression finally changed. The lifeless eyes turned sad.
Cole said, “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Messed up.”
The clerk managed a shrug.
“He was nice. Always took time to talk. Liked to tell stories.”
“Sounds like a good guy.”
“Yeah.”
Cole told himself this couldn’t be connected to Isabel Roland, but he knew he was lying. He wondered if the DNA matched Karbo or Bender.
“Did the deps say why he was killed?”
“Don’t know for sure. Probably somebody he busted, is what they’re saying.”
Lloyd Trent’s theory was the consensus opinion.
Cole finished the Coke, and dropped the empty into a recycling bin. He turned to leave when the clerk spoke again.
“I heard what you told the newspaper, you wanting to ask Mr. Kemp’s ex about a friend of his.”
“That’s right. Know her?”
“Nope. Didn’t know he’d been married. You might try up at the country club. Mr. Rose, maybe, or Mr. Baum. Mr. Hollis for sure.”
Cole returned to the counter.
“The country club?”
“Golf. Mr. Kemp was big on golf. Half the times he stopped in, he was on his way to play golf. Loved it.”
“The people you mentioned, a foursome?”
“Uh-huh. Wait a minute—”
The lifeless eyes stared into space.
“The Baums are off on a cruise. Try Mr. Hollis. They were close. Mr. Hollis might know.”
“First name?”
“Rich. Richard, I guess.”
“At the country club?”
The lifeless eyes lost focus. Cole was thinking the clerk had lapsed into a fugue when he lifted a phone and tapped at the screen.
“Try the jewelry shop first. I got it here somewhere.”
“He’s a jeweler?”
“Kinda retired, but yeah. Mr. Kemp liked him the best. They had a lot in common.”
“They did?”
“Drinkers.”
The clerk held out his phone, and Cole copied an address and number.
“What about Rose?”
“Him, I don’t know. Mr. Hollis can put you in touch.”
Cole tucked the address into a pocket, and went to the door.
“Thanks. You saved me a lot of time.”
The faraway eyes suddenly focused.
“He loved golf. He really loved it.”
Cole hesitated.
“I’m sure he did.”
“The best part about being retired was the golf. Said he’d show me how if I wanted. Said I could go along.”
“Did you?”
The lifeless eyes lost their focus.
“Uh-uh. Wish I had.”
Cole wished he had, too.
“You’re going to miss him.”
“Yeah.”
Cole pushed through the door, and stepped into shimmering heat.
22.
Hollis and Hollis Fine Family Jewelers referred to Rich and his daughter, Rachel. Richard Hollis was a thin man in his early seventies with steel gray hair and a nose laced with capillaries. His daughter was almost fifty, and thin like her father. She speared Cole with a hateful glare when he interrupted their work.
Mr. Hollis stepped from behind a display case, and led Cole to the side.
“Did they catch the bastards?”
Cole caught a whiff of gin, but ignored it.
Drinkers.
“Sir, I don’t know. I’m not with the police.”
“He was a marshal, you know?”
“Yes, sir.